Neckerchiefs
by LillyPadFrog
Summary: Arthur is alive and the ban on magic has been repealed, but even with Arthur's knowledge of Merlin's magic, how much does he really know about his friend. Like, for instance, why does Merlin always wear that silly neckerchief? (Will probably evolve into multiple one-shots.)
1. The Bark Paintings

Merlin isn't mine.

Arthur sighed. Camelot was beautiful and thriving. The ban on magic had been repealed and he was now making his way to his new Court Sorcerer's chambers. He smiled, remembering how proud and utterly complete Merlin's smile had been earlier that morning as he had been sworn into the noble court. Arthur was so proud of his friend and he couldn't imagine anyone else having Merlin's new position of Court Sorcerer.

Upon reaching Merlin's new chambers, Arthur knocked the old wooden door and entered at his friend's call to do so. He found Merlin standing near one of his dressers looking at what appeared to be several pieces of bark. As soon as Merlin realized it was Arthur who had entered his chambers, he immediately donned the most genuine smile Arthur had ever seen. He couldn't help but smile back at Merlin's happiness.

"How are you liking your new chambers?" he asked Merlin expectantly.

"They're huge!" Merlin exclaimed. "I have no idea what I'm going to do with all of the extra space."

Arthur laughed. Merlin seemed to be liking his new rooms. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Merlin laughed with him as he walked to the other side of the room, pieces of bark still in hand.

"What are those?" Arthur asked curiously, walking towards his friend.

"Paintings." Merlin answered, showing Arthur the two he was holding. They were absolutely beautiful. The first was of a young boy and girl, no older than 15, leaning their backs against an old tree by a forest. The boy was cheerful and smiling. He had dark hair and a pale face with prominent cheekbones. _It's Merlin!_ Arthur realized with a smile. In the painting, Merlin sat comfortably against the tree, twisted to be looking at the girl, wearing his usual brown pants and red shirt.

The girl shared many features with Merlin. She had the same dark hair that ran in a long, thick braid down her side. She, too, had prominent cheekbones and had the same blue eyes that Merlin did. She wore a modest brown dress, tied around her waist with a brown braided rope, and a red neckerchief around her neck. She reflected Merlin's position on the other side of the tree and was giving the same gleeful smile.

The second painting was a portrait of just the girl. She was beautiful. As in the last picture, her hair was in a braid. She was smiling and around her neck she wore a blue neckerchief. _Who is she?_ Arthur wondered. _Why does Merlin have these paintings?_ He looked at his friend who was smiling fondly at the paintings, or perhaps the memories they came with?

"Who is she?" Arthur asked, still in awe of the paintings' beauty and perfection.

"Her name was Willow." Merlin smiled sadly. "She was my sister. We were twins." Arthur felt his heart sadden. Why was Merlin talking in past tense?

"What happened to her?" he asked quietly.

"She drowned shortly after our eighteenth birthday. Her death was part of the reason I came to Camelot." Merlin readjusted the paintings in his arms. "She loved to paint. She made these. Our family didn't have much money at all, so she took the bark from our firewood to paint on, and she saved all of her earnings for almost six years to be able to buy these nice paints. Sometimes she even just sketched with ink on plant leaves, or used berries and tree leaves for color. Willow was very resourceful," Merlin chuckled. "I remember she spent hours looking at her reflection in the water, just memorizing her face so she could paint herself into her pictures."

Arthur followed Merlin back to the dresser which held many more paintings. They were all as beautiful as the first two. Some were portraits of Merlin or Hunith, and even a boy Arthur recognized as Will. Others were of animals, skillfully drawn into their peaceful habitats. One was even a sketch of the home Merlin had grown up in, it matched almost perfectly with the way Arthur remembered it.

Arthur stared in awe at the artwork. It was almost as if someone had captured a specific moment in time, and put it onto each piece of bark. Every piece was so detailed and every color matched perfectly with its surroundings.

One thing Arthur noticed, was that in none of the paintings, was Merlin wearing his neckerchief. However, the girl, Willow, was always wearing one. "Why aren't you wearing your neckerchief?" Arthur asked Merlin.

"I didn't always wear a neckerchief, you know." Merlin replied distantly. "Willow was the one who always wore one. When we were young, around ten I think, our village was invaded by thieves looking for crops. One of them was particularly evil. He had a knife, and was just slashing it around, cutting into doors and walls and even people. He swung it at Willow when she tried standing up to him and it cut right into her neck." Merlin shuddered and paused.

"It was a nasty cut. The blade had been unclean and jagged, and the wound of course became infected. Our mother was able to stop the bleeding, but she became so ill. We feared she wasn't going to live. One evening, she was so weak, and I remember mother quietly telling me that Willow probably wasn't going to wake up in the morning. I stayed with Willow all that night, holding her hand. I fell asleep like that.

"Mother said that sometime in the morning, Willow had opened her eyes, and they were bright gold. When mother turned to wake me, she noticed that my eyes were the same. Neither of us were awake, though, and neither of us remembered it afterward. We had healed her. The next morning, she woke up healthy, and feverless and her cut was able to begin to heal and scar. I think that was when mother realized how truly instinctual our magic was. We were both born with it, and sometimes the use of it was as unpreventable as a heart beat.

"The wound left an ugly scar, though. And for our eleventh birthday, mother made her a neckerchief. She made me one too, but I hardly ever wore it. Willow always wore hers to cover her scar. She had many neckerchiefs, in blues and reds and green. There was even a yellow one that our grandmother gave her." Merlin laughed. "She wore it to be polite, but she didn't enjoy it."

Arthur looked at Merlin who was still looking at the self-portrait of Willow. She must have been very brave to stand up to a knife-brandishing criminal. Looking at the painting again, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.

"She looks so beautiful," Arthur said before he realized it.

"She was." Merlin smiled. "She was beautiful. And kind, and modest. The children of our village always looked up to her. She always helped in the fields, taught the children how to do odd chores to earn money, and she always smiled. Always. She taught the children how to cook, how to survive if they ever became lost, and how to swim." Merlin chuckled bitterly now.

"Willow was a great swimmer. She was strong and lean and knew water well enough to know where was safe and where was dangerous." Merlin paused. "Unfortunately, children do not know how to tell such things. There was a young boy, only seven or eight, who was still learning to swim. He had unknowingly made his way to a rather dangerous part of the river near our home. Thinking that water was water, he hopped right in. It was too deep, and he couldn't keep his head up. Willow and I heard his shouts. We weren't far from him. She never even hesitated, just jumped right in to get him. The river had a dangerously fast current and they were both under water for over a minute. When she broke though the surface, the boy alive and crying in her arms, I couldn't have been more relieved. She was still struggling, though. The current would have been hard to fight with just herself, but trying to keep a frightened child above the surface as well? It was too difficult, I could tell.

"I had always been an awful swimmer myself, so I knew I would only matters worse if I tried to get in and help her. She made her way to the bank of the river where I met her. She was tired, her legs were weakening from all her effort. I took the boy from her, and he was safe. He ran back to the village for help. I reached my hand out to Willow." Merlin stopped, lightly tracing the side of her smiling face in the painting with his hand.

"The river swept her away before she could reach back." He choked. "I tried to run after her, but her head struck a rock and knocked her unconscious. She was unable to swim. I followed her, the current was fast and she was just floating along with it. Eventually the river slowed and I waded in to get her. She was already dead. There was nothing I could do. Not even our magic could bring back the dead."

Arthur felt a lump in the back of his throat. Willow was brave and kindhearted, he knew. Just like Merlin.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry." Arthur began, he couldn't picture life without Merlin, whom he considered a brother. He couldn't imagine the pain Merlin must have gone through, knowing that he would never see his sister again.

"It's alright." Merlin said, rubbing his teary eyes. "She died saving someone. She was honored in our village. Everyone mourned together, but we knew that Willow wouldn't want us to remember her mournfully. Slowly, everyone became more cheerful, always trying to be positive and smile about things. They taught the children how to swim and tell safe water from dangerous water. They learned from her and Ealdor became a better place because of her bravery and selflessness."

"She would be proud of you, Merlin. For all that you've done." Arthur comforted his friend.

"I know she would be. She always believed that magic shouldn't be feared as it was. She wanted a peaceful kingdom, where magic was accepted, and status wasn't judged by birth. She wanted to live in a kingdom like the one you've created, Arthur. Willow would be proud of you, too"

"Like the kingdom _we've_ created, Merlin. Without you, I would still be an arrogant arse and I would have followed my father's footsteps and Camelot would be worse than it was." Arthur told him, trying to convey how important Merlin was to him.

"I wonder how everything would have turned out if Willow had been able to come to Camelot with me." Merlin wondered aloud. The two friends sat in silence for a while, each trying to imagine if Willow had been around in Camelot. Arthur realized something.

"Is that why you wear a neckerchief?" He blurted. "To honor her?"

Merlin smiled kindly, unwittingly mirroring Willow's face in the painting. "Yes. She always tried to get me to wear the one that mother made me, and I don't really know how to explain it, but it just sort of felt like my own little way to remember her."

The moment was abruptly interrupted by a loud knock on the door. "Come in." Merlin said, hastily wiping any traces of sadness from his eyes. Arthur quickly did the same.

It was Arthur's new manservant. "Sire, Queen Gweniviere is wondering if either of you are ready for the feast."

"Please inform her that we're on our way." Arthur said kindly.

After the servant left Arthur turned to Merlin and gave him a pointed look. "You see, that is what a competent servant looks like."

Merlin laughed, and Arthur was glad his friend was smiling again. "So there's why you were a neckerchief." Arthur said in jest thoughtfulness. "I guess we're a few steps closer to understanding the mystery of Merlin."

"I'll make you a deal," Merlin said, "Every night I'll tell you a different story. Be it about how I saved your life, or about when I was younger, or whatever, as long as you teach me how to use all of those different forks at the feasts."

"You could be asking for anything right now, and you choose silverware?" Arthur laughed.

"There are like six of them!" Merlin defended, his laughter echoing through the halls as they made their way to the feast.

Arthur wondered what kinds of stories Merlin would tell. Anything that Merlin told him would get him one step closer to solving the evergrowing puzzle that was his best friend.

"It's a deal" Arthur promised.

Years later Arthur would still come to see Merlin just before night to hear his story. He listened to tales of Merlin's joys and sorrows, his victories and his losses, stories from Ealdor and Camelot, and soon there were no secrets left between the two. Merlin often opted to tell stories of Willow, telling Arthur of his favorite childhood memories with her and all the mischief they'd gotten into as children. Arthur always enjoyed listening to his friend's stories, and to honor Willow, he set up a program that would teach Camelot's people to swim and how to tell if an area was safe to swim in or not.

Through swim lessons, neckerchiefs, and art lessons, Willow would never be forgotten, and Merlin couldn't be happier.


	2. Fate is Cruel to Those We Love

The rest of the chapters in this story will all be one-shots that involve Willow. They will not be in any specific order or any specific genre, so I'll explain each one in the beginning of each chapter. Also, am open to suggestions, so if there's something you want to happen, I will certainly take it into consideration.

This is Willow's death scene. Tragedy and angst. Merlin's point of view. I should also mention that Willow and Will are a couple in this one. (Will is from the show, I don't own him.)

I still don't own Merlin. :(

She was giving me an art lesson when it happened. We were sitting on the river bank, and she was showing me how to sketch things that wouldn't hold still. She said the river would be a good place for me to start because even though it was constantly moving, it stayed relatively the same.

"Just find something that won't be moving," Willow told me, "like that rock over there. Just get the outline of the rock first." We did that, using some ink and parchment that Willow had received as a birthday gift on our birthday a few days ago. Hers was much better than mine, looking exactly like the real rock.

"That's great Merlin!" She smiled, looking at my work.

"It hardly looks like the same rock!" I exclaimed incredulously, "And yours is much better."

"Perhaps. But just because it doesn't look exactly the same, doesn't make it bad," she told me, "And don't forget that I've been drawing the river for years, and you've only just started. It's not easy at first. For your first time, Merlin, that's really good."

She continued to show me how to set things up and how to draw and shade the motion of the river. This went on for about on hour when suddenly her head shot up sharply, alertness written on all of her features.

"What was that?" She demanded.

"I didn't hear anything." I told her honestly. We listened for a few more seconds, but no noise came.

"Must have been a bird or something," she mused softly. Then turning back to her art, she placed her quill to continue a mossy log in the river.

But then we both heard it. A child, screaming. She threw everything down and ran in the direction of the noise, I followed quickly behind her. I recognized the screams as one of the boy's from our village. She did too.

"MATHEW!" She screamed, looking for him. I joined in the shouting, searching for the boy in the fast flowing river. I knew where we were, it was probably the most dangerous part of the river. It was deep and the current was strong, quick, and unpredictable.

Suddenly a small head broke the surface of the water, and a short scream came from the child before he was yanked back under. There was a blur of motion to my left and then Willow was in the water, fighting her way to Mathew. The current pulled her toward him, but she was already struggling to make sure she wouldn't miss him. Then she went under. I couldn't see either of them and I even considered getting in to help, but I knew I would cause more problems than solve them because I was an awful swimmer. I began to shout for them, they hadn't broken the surface for more than a minute and I was terrified.

A large splash interrupted my cries and relief broke out in my heart. It was Willow, holding a frightened (but _alive_ ) Mathew. I ran to them as the current had pulled them far from where I was standing.

Willow began making her way to the edge of the river, but it was slow and exhausting work, fighting the current while keeping a child's head above the water was already difficult, and the water kept getting into her mouth causing her to cough and choke.

Slowly she made it to where I was waiting and I reached out. She shoved Mathew towards me and I gripped his arm and pulled him from the river. I set him on the bank and quickly made sure he was alright. The moment I was done, he turned and sprinted towards the village.

I turned back to Willow and reached my hand to her to pull her out of the water. She was exhausted, I could tell. She was still fighting the current with all she had, but she was losing. She held on to a mossy log (the same one she had been drawing earlier) so she wouldn't be pulled to far, before reaching out to me. I grabbed her hand and began to pull her in.

The next few moments were a bit of a haze, but I'll never, _ever_ be able to forget them.

Willow's hand was slippery from the moss on the log. And it slipped out of my own. I grabbed for her, panic building inside me. The current was to strong and she was pulled too quickly away from me.

"WILLOW!" My cry didn't sound like my own. I could see her, floating quickly with the current, trying to right herself and fight it. But she couldn't.

Her head hit a rock. The same rock that we had been drawing. She was unconscious. She could no longer swim. And then she went under.

I kept screaming and I ran after her, eventually she floated to a shallower, gentler part of the river. I waded in thoughtlessly.

"Willow! Willow, please!" I begged. For what, though? To wake up? To fight? To respond? Anything, I realized. Just don't be dead.

But Fate is cruel. I knelt in the water, and picked her up. The head wound was bad, I could see her skull, but that wasn't the cause of her death, not directly. She had _drowned_. She was dead. I carried her to shore, stumbling through my broken sobs. Then somewhere through my fogged mind, magic became a thought. What if I could save her?

But Fate is wicked and I felt a hand on my back. Mathew's father. I looked up and I saw some more villagers. I couldn't use my magic now. All hope lost, I pulled Willow closer to me and cried even harder.

Then a scream broke through the crowd and I looked up and saw my mother. Our mother. _No, please, don't let her see this_ , my mind begged.

But Fate it evil, and my mother's broken sobs joined my own and she held Willow's hand and pulled it close to her heart.

Suddenly someone was trying to take her from me. I heard myself screaming at them to stop. It was Will. He knelt by us in shock. Slowly he reached forward and began lightly patting Willow's cheek and calling for her to wake.

But Fate is persistent, and she did not.


	3. The Deer

**So this chapter is quite unlike the others. No angst or tragedy. Just some family and friendship. Not much action, just getting to know Willow a little better. This one takes place when they're about 12 years old, in the spring. I don't own Merlin :(**

Willow had always had a certain way with animals. They never startled or ran off when she was near, and they almost never bit or attacked her in any way.

Merlin had decided to blame her magic for it. Surely the animals could sense her magic, or the purity of it or something.

But if this was the case, then why did they only act this way towards his sister? If magic was the cause, then certainly the behavior would be shown towards the both of them, right?

Well, then magic couldn't be the reason, Merlin decided. Maybe it was because Willow was always gentle and elegant in her movements, whilst Merlin often tripped or stomped.

Yes, that had to be the reason, Merlin concluded as he watched a small deer walk curiously up to his sister, who sat quietly and patiently, with paper and ink in her lap.

Merlin knew she was going to paint the delicate creature, and that the deer probably wouldn't leave until she was done. He was, honestly, slightly jealous of his sister's knack for animals. Any creature she saw, if she so desired, she would become "friends" with, as she called it.

Willow had many "friends" around Ealdor. Of course, she had human friends too, but the animals just seemed attracted to her in some way.

Merlin smiled as he watched the deer bend to sniff Willow's knee. She was perched on a rock in the field, sitting criss cross with her long hair behind her back in it's usual braid, and she was wearing a pair of brown slacks that were actually Merlin's with a faded white blouse. Merlin noticed with a snort, that she was also barefoot.

Willow was never one to be compared with a proper lady as she preferred slacks to skirts and bare feet to slippers, and work to idleness. She was always very polite, though. Never rude, pushy or nosey, and she hardly ever raised her voice.

Merlin watched the scene for nearly a half hour before a bird flitted down by his ear and startled him, causing him to jump and trip forward from his hiding place. As he looked towards Willow again, he was just in time to see the deer scamper back into the woods beyond the field.

"Merlin!" Willow scolded mockingly. "You're lucky I was almost done!"

Dusting himself off, Merlin walked up to her. "Can I see it?" he asked.

She nodded and showed him the drawing. The deer was bent in the field, sniffing a flower. "I'm going to give it to mother's friend, Mary. She loves deer. I know this because sometimes I see her watching them from the window."

"Merlin! Willow!" Their mother's voice rang across the field. "Dinner!"

"Ooh! Mother said we were have soup with vegetables in it tonight!" Willow squealed. She loved meals that consisted of vegetables because she dearly hated having to eat animals.

"Coming Mother!" Merlin called back. Willow gathered her things and ran to the house. Merlin trotted after her.

 **Let me know what you think. Reviews really mean a lot to me. If you have an idea that you would like to see as a chapter let me know in the comments. I just want to make you happy :) ... or sad, depends on what I'm writing...**


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